


you came back like a wave

by wheo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, a whole pile of dumbassery...., i guess, klance were friends at the garrison au, mutual pining [BASS BOOSTED]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheo/pseuds/wheo
Summary: “Why did you leave?”Keith flinches. His shoulders have gotten broader, Lance notices, and his jacket sits kind of weird on them now. There's a strand of hair covering his eye and Lance wants to tuck it away. “Are you talking about Voltron or the Garrison?”Lance breathes in. Breathes out. Ebb and flow. “I’m talking about me.”





	you came back like a wave

**Author's Note:**

> sum notes: pidge is just. a part of the garrison. no sneaking in. no fake identity. she's just a student bc. wanted to include her i guess (also matt and sam aren't on the mission w/ shiro bc. it wasn't really relevant to the plot and i wanted lance to be in the Center of the Attention w/ his feelings. does that make sense? i dunno.) idk if this would even be considered a canon divergence au bc so much shit is altered but UH anyway.
> 
> stars mean it's a flashback, horizontal lines r just regular timeskips

Keith has always been a constant in Lance’s life. From the moment he entered it, he was always there— maybe not physically, but forever present in Lance’s mind.

He appears, unexpected, sneaks into everyone’s lives as the new kid at the Garrison, brooding and silent. He doesn’t speak for a week, just looks out the window with his head resting on the open palm of his hand until the teacher calls out to him. Lance examines him with curious eyes, notices the worn-out strings of his jacket that he sometimes pulls at when he’s bored, so focused on such a peripheral task his eyebrows scrunch up in a frown.

Keith is a mystery to everyone, but it’s only Lance who is set on unveiling the cover to see what’s underneath. Because if there’s one thing Lance has learned, it’s that people aren’t always what they seem — sometimes their truth is hidden under dark shadows, secluded only for those who attempt to see it for themselves.

It’s when Keith’s fist goes flying into the cheek of another student that Lance decides there’s much more to the new kid than meets the eye. He examines Keith for another week, despite Hunk’s protests and warnings and what-if’s, watches the way he blows the hair out of his face in annoyed huffs, the way his eyes shoot open and the smallest worried pout forms on his lips when Lance and Hunk choose him for a group project.

 _He wasn’t expecting anyone to choose him,_ Lance thinks, and decides he’s going to choose Keith as many times as he can.

Keith comes into Lance’s life the way Lance gets into the sea, slowly, cautiously, with feet dipped in cold water, and then all at once. And maybe fourteen year old Lance isn’t aware of it, but he’s going to be drowning in Keith soon enough.

* * *

It ends up being Keith and Lance and Hunk. It’s Keith and Lance planning different ways to cheat an upcoming test while Hunk calmly writes down his notes in the haven of a quiet library, it’s Lance and Hunk surprising Keith on his birthday he didn’t think they knew the date of, it’s Hunk and Keith rubbing Lance’s back after a nightmare, his cheeks red and eyes bleary as quiet sobs ripple from his chest.

Keith is the hothead, the emo kid, the guarded one who only has a soft spot for his best friends, and if you look close enough you can see him smiling proudly as Hunk presents their project, or hear him laughing at one of the jokes Lance cracked, even if it wasn’t funny at all.

Lance, on the other hand, is outgoing and smiley and sometimes he gets lost in thought while humming the melody of his favorite song during class and Keith has to throw balls of crumpled paper at him to make him stop.

And Hunk is the glue. Hunk is the glue because sometimes Keith and Lance fight like a couple that’s been married for half of their lives and it looks like they’ve gotten sick of one another but they keep coming back to each other after every quarrel— and Hunk is the glue because sometimes they need to be reminded about why they were together in the first place.

And on a particular Friday, when classes have ended and the lights have gone off, and Hunk was looking forward a good night of sleep, the two lovebirds have decided to start yet another heated discussion.

“We’re _not_ stealing Shiro’s hoverbike. Just because _you_ are his brother doesn’t mean it won’t get _us_ in trouble. And I don’t want to be in trouble with Shiro.” Lance protested with a set jaw and crossed arms and a stance that reminded Keith of those mean girls in movies that say “hmph!” and flip their hair when they’re angry. Keith almost laughs outright.

The verdict is as following: Shiro is Keith’s brother. Lance idolizes the _hell_ out of Shiro. Lance _really_ wants to ride Shiro’s hoverbike but Lance _knows_ that if they steal it, Shiro will be mad. And Lance doesn’t want Shiro to be mad. Especially not at him. So when Keith suggests they steal Shiro’s hoverbike, Lance kindly asks him if he’s “gone out of his goddamn mind.”

“Where’s the Lance that would go on and on and _on_ about how much he wants to ride a hoverbike? Who are you and what did you do to him?” Keith jokes with an incredibly serious expression, waving a hand in front of Lance’s face. Lance smacks it away halfheartedly.

Keith frowns at him and turns to Hunk with a pout and puppy eyes and before he can even _ask,_ Hunk is already half-way to retorting.

“Nope, no, nuh-uh, you’re not getting me in the middle of this. Consider me neutral,” Hunk raises his hands in defense, shaking his head. “Let’s just flip a coin or something. I have a quarter.”

“Fine, do it. I’m tails,” Lance murmurs, arms crossed in a way that mirrors Keith’s usual stance. “But if Keith wins and we _do_ have to partake in his _barbarous_ plan, I’m telling Shiro it was Keith’s idea because I don’t want Shiro to be mad at me. I think if Shiro ever got mad at me I would die. And also if—”

Hunk cuts him off mid-sentence with a groan. “Dude, shut up. I already flipped while you were talking. It’s a head.”

“What? Give me that!” Lance practically _screeches_ and launches himself at Hunk, snatching the coin from Hunk’s hand and hurling it across the room. It clunks somewhere on the ground, and Hunk frowns at the lost one quarter of his lunch money.

“Alright, then it’s settled,” Keith claps his hands together in satisfaction and stands up and Lance wishes he could wipe that proud grin off of his face. “Now, who here knows how to hotwire a hoverbike?”

“I do.”

The voice is unknown and it makes all three boys flip their heads around (and causes Lance to let out an embarrassing squeal), only to see a four foot nine, brown-haired girl with round glasses and a shirt that says “the physics is theoretical but the fun is real”. Keith blinks blankly at her.

“ _You_ know how to hotwire a hoverbike?” Keith asks, half shocked, half disbelieving, and Lance buries an elbow into his side. Keith scowls. “What the hell was that for?”

“Maybe ask her who she is and how she got into our room first?” Lance demands quietly and Keith wishes he could throttle him— in a violent or joking way, he isn’t sure yet.

“I’m Pidge and I can hear you, by the way,” the girl says and Lance outright _shouts_ this time, almost jumping into Keith’s arms. He doesn’t quite make it, though he manages to properly attach himself like a leech. It makes Keith’s face heat up a little, and he makes a half-assed attempt at shoving him off but doesn’t quite try because he doesn’t quite want to.

The girl examines them under her glasses with a glint in her eyes. “I can get into any room in the Garrison if I want to. Even the kitchen.” She adjusts her frames, “I was sent by Iverson to check on you guys but I was quite intrigued upon hearing your plan. Count me in and I won’t tell the one-eyed pirate you were planning on stealing Shirogane’s hoverbike.”

Hunk is pointedly looking at both of them with a smile while jabbing a thumb back at the new girl standing right behind him. “I like her! Count her in!” he says, and Lance opens his mouth to complain about how Hunk only likes her because she can help him steal food out of the kitchen, but Keith is way ahead of him—though he has something else in mind.

“Then I guess she’s in,” Keith says, pulling his stupid “why not” face and shrugging nonchalantly. “Welcome to our group, Pidge. I hope you’re ready to hotwire some hoverbikes.”

“Hey! Don't care to ask me? I'm a part of this group too!” Lance protests, irked that nothing seems to be going his way. Keith barely suppresses an eyeroll.

“ _Fine_ , Lance the almighty, is it okay if Pidge joins our group?”

Lance examines Pidge with narrowed eyes, analyzing her for exactly two seconds before shrugging and muttering: “Yeah, sure, why not.”

* * *

 “We suck at this.”

“ _You_ suck at this. I’m doing my job just fine.” Pidge is a ball of nervous energy on the bike’s seat. The wires in her hands tremble. “Hunk, stop shaking the flashlight so much.  
  
“Sorry,” Hunk says, honest. “Lance is making me nervous."  
  
Lance scoffs and uncrosses his arms to throw them up like some cartoon character, comically exaggerated. “I’m sorry I’m right! We’re gonna get caught and then we’re all dead.”

“Lance,” Keith’s voice is a warning from where he’s crouching next to him. That, or he’s shorter than Lance remembers. He can’t see him in the dark. “We’re stealing my brother’s bike. Not kidnapping the president.”

“Same difference,” murmurs Lance, just as the engine revs to life. He almost trips over Keith when he jumps.

“Alright,” Keith says, now standing. “Let’s get this thing going.”

So they steal Shiro’s hoverbike together from under the plastic cover, despite it being in a garage, and Keith drives it off of a cliff like they’re on some kind of a suicide mission. Hunk and Pidge and Lance are a deafening chorus of screaming mixed with crying, and instead of spending the five seconds he was in the air drinking up the pure adrenaline of the free-fall, Keith spends it wishing he brought earplugs.

When they stop no one but Keith dares to move a muscle as if they’ve seen the light and heard the angels, and it makes Keith a little bit concerned for a moment. He pokes Lance’s shoulder and Lance slaps his hand away and Hunk turns his head to retch and with that, they’re golden. Pidge sucks in a breath and then mentions something about miscalculating their chances of survival.

 

 

Two days later, Keith does the same thing, except with Lance alone.

He picks Lance up with no word about where they’re going or what they’re doing— all that Lance knows is that there is a new bracelet around Keith’s right wrist, something he’s never seen before. He doesn’t comment on it, just gets on the bike as he was instructed to do, watching Keith hunch his back before he starts it up.

They drive into the sunset and it feels like an ending scene of a romantic movie, a sight that would be seen behind the words “The End” written out in cursive letters as the picture fades away. The sensation Lance feels while at the back of the hoverbike is weird, like a gut feeling but also like a feeling of nothing, entirely hollow, something he can’t explain.

It feels like a goodbye. But it can’t be.

The amount of time they spend driving is beyond Lance. He spends it soaking in the golden sun rays, the air hitting his face and whipping through his hair, making a mess of his brown curls. It feels like being on the top of the world, as if it can’t get better than this, but then his eyes fall on Keith.

Keith, the guy with the unkept mullet that curls around his cheeks and the unevenly cut bangs that sometimes get in his face (now doing everything except for that, the wind pushing them away from his forehead in a wild tangle). Keith, the guy who wears the same red jacket whenever he’s not wearing the Garrison uniform, even though the sleeves on it are full of strings and unravelling threads that have been pulled at numerous times for as long as Lance has known him. Keith, the guy with the black fingerless gloves that cover the fact that he bites at his knuckles when he’s angry or nervous. Keith, mysterious and yet so easy to read.

The bike abruptly stops, so hastily it almost sends Lance flying face first into Keith’s back. It does nothing but make him jerk a little.

“We’re here,” says Keith, voice low with unreadable emotion, something Lance doesn’t register and hasn’t heard before. He gets off the bike in the most careful manner Lance has ever seen and something feels very, very wrong.

“And where exactly is—” Lance starts, hopping off from the bike with incompetent precision, almost losing his balance to the ground under his feet. Then he notices that, _oh,_ “here” is apparently a place where ground ends and the sky begins, because Keith is currently two steps away from stepping into nothing but air. _A cliff,_ Lance thinks. _Obviously._ But it’s not the same one from two nights ago.

The horizon is the most prominent Lance has ever seen it, the line between the orange of the sky bathed in its last sun rays and the reddish-brown desert so clean-cut Lance is a little dumbstruck. “Woah,” is all he says, and then realizes he forgot to finish his previous sentence.

“I used to come here when I was really sad or angry,” Keith says, face still turned away from Lance. It looks like he’s speaking to the air, whispering into the wind. “I haven’t been here since-” he stops and trails off, turning around to look at Lance. He doesn’t finish.

“Since… since me?” Lance asks, incredulous. “I—I mean, since you met me?”

Keith gives into the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and it lasts for half a second, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing. The glow drips over his dark curls, his face bathed in a soft orange light, and Lance, for a split second, thinks about if he could stay in this moment forever, he would. Keith steps closer to him and Lance can now see the sunlight reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah, Lance,” he finally says, “since I met you.”

“But— but if we’re here right now does that mean… something’s wrong?”

Keith’s face falls and he looks down, away from Lance’s eyes, and Lance as a whole. There are a few awkward seconds spent in silence, just enough for Lance to fret over what he said wrong before Keith speaks up again. Looking at his own feet, his voice breaks as he says, “Shiro’s leaving.”  
  
And the sun sets over them. The glow is gone in a second, now replaced by the dullness of a missing light.

There is no explanation. No how’s or what’s or why’s. There’s just limbs enveloping Keith into a hug different than any other one he’s had before. It heals him, takes his pieces and mends them together to make a whole again. And when tears roll down puffy cheeks into Lance’s jacket and hesitant arms come to meet behind Lance’s back, gripping onto him for dear life, Lance decides, once and for all, he is never letting Keith go.

* * *

 Tiredness is heavy on Keith's face. It tugs his lips into a frown and makes his eyes lidded, the usual vibrant purple of his pupils now dull. Lance examines him with the same precision as the first time he saw him.

“Why are you analyzing me?” Keith asks, without looking at Lance. His voice is low and rough, a night of no sleep evident in it.

“‘M not analyzing you,” Lance murmurs between the palm of his hand that’s pressed to his cheek. “Just looking.”

“Just looking,” Keith echoes. “Why are you looking?”

“Am I not allowed to look?”

Keith hums thoughtfully. “You are, but your staring is just reminding me I look like shit.”

Lance's face twists. “You don't look like shit, you just look tired. You should sleep more.”

The look on Keith's face turns unreadable. Lance can look as hard as he can but he can't put a finger on it. “Sure,” Keith says, more silent than before. “I’ll sleep more.”

 

***

 

“Lance?”

 _I can’t see,_ Lance thinks. _I can usually see but I can’t see right now,_ Lance thinks. His hands are shaking, fingers twitching in dark. The voice calling to him seems familiar, but only in the back of his mind.

Night horrors for Lance aren’t anything unusual. One at least once a week, if not more. Sometimes he can’t sleep after. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother with trying to sleep at all. Sometimes he just stares at the bunk bed above him and doesn’t stop until the sun gets in his eyes.

“Lance, what’s wrong?”

 _I can’t see,_ Lance wants to say. _I can’t feel my hands,_ Lance wants to say. _Who are you,_ he wants to say, but doesn’t. No words pass through the chattering of his teeth.

“Hey, Lance,” the voice says again. “Look at me.”

The hands on both of his cheeks are warm, Lance knows. He can feel them, somehow.

“Deep breaths, okay? You’re awake now.”

 _I’m awake,_ he thinks. _Was I ever asleep?_

Breathe in, hold, out. Once, twice, three times. _There are no nightmares with your eyes open,_ he thinks and knows it’s not true. _There are no nightmares with your eyes open,_ he thinks, and knows the nightmares with your eyes open are worse. He blinks at the tears in his eyes blurring his vision. He didn’t notice he was crying.

“Lance,” the voice says, “are you okay?”

Lance can see again. It’s near dark, but Lance can see again. He stares at the purple eyes in front of him and they stare right back at him with an emotion Lance can only read as worry.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Thanks, Keith.”

The next few moments are silent, with nothing but the sounds of their breathing filling the air. The place on Lance's bed where Keith is currently sitting has already adjusted to his weight, and Lance thinks, fuck it, might as well have his whole mattress memorize the curve of Keith's spine.

“Could you— uh, could you stay?”

Keith blinks so many times Lance loses count. And yet, when he says “yeah, of course" not a single hint of vacillation lingers in his voice. There's no “move over, dumbass" or any teasing of the sort— Keith crawls into the space between Lance and the wall without a word. It's a tight spot, for sure, but they make it work.

Keith lies facing Lance. Lance lays down on his back because he would rather face the possibility of being crushed by the bed above him than the purple pools of Keith's eyes, the flutter of dark eyelashes against his cheeks, the hair getting into his face. He would rather suffer in a different way.

The breaths almost reaching his face are what puts him to sleep, the rhythm of Keith's breathing, the inhales and exhales. He doesn't get to hear when they even out. He doesn't get to see Keith's eyes soft but focused, trailing the curve of his nose and lips, examining the curls in his hair up until the alarm is blaring on the bedside table. All Lance gets to see are the dark eyebags as the aftermath of it.

* * *

A year passes in complete silence. And then, like nothing, Shiro is gone. _The whole crew is missing,_ they said one day. _The whole crew is presumed dead,_ they said the other. It hit them like a bucket of cold water. Keith believed none of it.

He seemed to be nothing but a shell of a person for a whole week after, staring straight ahead with empty eyes, numb— and all Lance could see was the Keith from the beginning. The one with a cover, shielding his feelings from the outside world, hidden.

They're seated in a classroom, warily listening to the lesson when Keith passes Lance a note with a brush of fingers, a messy message written on crumpled paper in chicken scratch that says “meet me after class.” Lance looks at Keith with concerned eyes but Keith isn't looking at him. He is looking straight ahead.

So he does. Lance meets Keith after class when the usual rush of students has cleared up, leaving their footsteps to echo in the empty hallway. Keith stands the closest he’s ever stood to Lance and they're breathing the same air and Lance is fully aware of every flutter of Keith’s lashes and the dark circles underneath them, and the way his eyes have lost color and turned dull with overtiredness.

 _You should take better care of yourself,_ Lance almost whispers but Keith slowly moves and reaches for the pocket in his jacket, carefully fishing out an item. He opens Lance's fist and places it on his palm, closing his fingers around Lance's own, the once-gloved hands now bare and cold against Lance’s skin.

Lance slowly opens his hand and he’s holding a bracelet, the red and blue one, the same one Keith had around his wrist at the cliff. Lance stares at it for a little while before frowning at it, confused, a “why” stuck at the tip of his tongue but Keith has already read his mind.

_Blue. Trust. Stability._

_Red. Desire. Anger—_

_Love._

“Shiro gave it to me before he left. I want you to have it.”

That alone should have been a red flag, a cause for alarm. Keith had said it with a weird voice, a little bit too shaky and solemn and a little bit not at all like Keith. But Lance had accepted, letting Keith tie the bracelet around his wrist like it was made for him to wear it. It's not until Keith leaves, the day after, that Lance realizes what it had meant, and the skin around it starts to burn.

A piece of paper on a bed. A uniform tucked neatly underneath it.

 

~~_Dear everyone,_ ~~

~~_Dear Lance, or at least I hope you’re the one reading this_ ~~

_Dear Lance,_

_I think you know why I’m addressing this letter to you._ _I ~~think you should know~~   _ _You probably know._

_I’ll try not to make this too long. I don’t think that would do any better to what I’ve already done. Not to rub salt into the wound and all._

_First and foremost, I want to say I’m sorry I left. I know you’re going to be upset with me. I don’t blame you. I didn’t want to write this at first but I felt stupid leaving with absolutely nothing. I know it’s stupid. I know me leaving is stupid. I know I’m stupid._

_I want to thank you for the best few years of my life. It was good. You’re a really good person, Lance. I’m not the one to wax poetic about a person, but there. I think you’re amazing in all ways possible. You’re all I’ll never be able to be. You’re smart, and you’re kind and it’s infuriating, sometimes. It’s infuriating that you don’t see that. But anyways._

~~_It’s always_ ~~ _Sometimes it’s easier to run away. Sometimes you want the easy way out. You can’t lose what you don’t have is what I’ve learned, so I choose not to go through the pain of losing you_ ~~_as well_ ~~ _someday. I’m choosing to let you go myself. I’m choosing the easy way out. I’m sorry I took it. I hope you never have to._

_All of the pencils I’ve stolen from Hunk over the course of these few years are in his drawer. Tell him I’m sorry too._

_Pidge is going to be really angry. She’ll probably shout. I’m sorry in advance. Sorry I say sorry a lot._

_And you… you’ll be a good fighter pilot, I’m sure. By the end of the year, you’re going to be Lance McClain - top of his class. Better than I could ever be. I’m sure of it._

~~_I lo_~~  

_Take care of yourselves. You, and Hunk, and Pidge. Look out for each other. You’ll always have each other. I’m sorry you couldn’t have me._

_Keith._

~~_Ps. I know you think I didn’t see you on the first day of school, but I did. I saw you looking, just like everyone else. I knew you were looking. But I didn’t think you would see._ ~~

 

***

 

Lance watched him from afar. Like a painting in an art museum. Guarded by heavy strings of rope.

Lance watched him from up close. Remembering all the details of him, from up close. Running his hands along the surface, feeling the dried chunks of paint under his fingertips. Flaws add to the character, they say.

_You can look at something but that doesn't mean you see it. You can hear but not listen._

Lance is fourteen, inspecting a boy like he's a work of art with squinting eyes and a careful gaze. Lance is fourteen, etching all the details into his brain, heart, mind, soul. Lance is fourteen and he eagerly yearns for something he can't explain the reason behind. The heart has its reasons of which reason knows not, they say.

_There's no easy way out._

Lance is fourteen, extending his hand to a stranger. Lance is fourteen and he wants to see what's under the surface. Lance is fourteen and his own name rolls off of his tongue like it’s dripping honey.

" _I’m Lance,”_ he says. _“And you are?”_ he asks, but Lance is fourteen and he’s had Keith’s name tattooed on the inside of his eyelids for a while now. 

The boy with dark hair, purple eyes, a new color on the artist’s palette. The boy who hides underneath the cover of his own invisibility, away from prying eyes, guarded. The boy who learns that you can't lose what you don't have. 

 _“Keith,”_ isn't the easy way out. Not for Lance.

 

***

 

Keith vanishes into thin air a week after the Kerberos mission incident. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance carry the weight of it. Lance carries the most.

He doesn’t sleep well for days. Stares at the ceiling like he’s expecting it to crumble and crash on him any second, breaking into chunks and pieces and falling right onto his bed. Sometimes he wishes it does. 

It hurts for a while but they soon return to their escapades, like the ones they used to do while Keith was still there. It’s like their way of coping, sort of. Hunk and Pidge still get awkwardly silent at the mention of Keith, but Lance doesn’t seem to bat an eye when it comes to it. He stares at whatever is in front of him until his friends aren’t looking at him anymore. He absently fidgets with the now worn-out bracelet, still around his wrist, ever since Keith had tied it there.

Hunk and Pidge and Lance fail the simulator once again. _“Maybe we wouldn't have failed it if Keith was here”_ is what Lance’s mind helpfully supplies and he brushes it off, shoves it at the back of his mind. He isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to do that. 

“Use these cadets as a perfect example of what _not_ to do,” Iverson explains to the group of students surrounding him. “And you,” he focuses his one eye on Lance, cold and piercing through Lance’s head, “remember why you're here.”

 

 

_Because Keith isn't._

 

 

After that, Lance decides it’s a perfect night for sneaking out. They meet at the roof of the Garrison where Pidge sets up her equipment and rambles about some kind of Voltron but Lance doesn’t really listen. He observes a falling star passing the sky and it’s the brightest and the biggest one he’s ever seen and it’s coming _way_ too close to Earth, so close he feels like if he reaches out he might catch it.

“What the hell is that? Is that a meteor?”

Pidge looks up, looks down, back up with a gaping mouth and then finally reaches for her binoculars. “No. It’s a ship—” she scrambles to her feet in a hurry, “—and it’s one of theirs.”

The ship crashes, as expected, and all three of them are already running towards the scene by the time the Garrison turns on its alarms. It takes them minutes because it isn’t that far, but it’s enough for Hunk to have a freak out about evil aliens and whatnot. Lance’s bracelet feels like it’s burning the skin around his wrist, a live wire humming with something electric.

They examine the ship with Pidge's binoculars for a while, watching the guards walk around the entrance. Pidge hacks into the inside cameras and stares at the screen with empty eyes long enough to make Hunk and Lance exchange worried looks.

“It’s Shiro,” she says, voice shaky.

“Shiro? Sent-to-Kerberos-then-went-missing Shiro? Proclaimed dead Shiro?”, Hunk rambles, in a hurry, then stops, grows quiet. “ _Keith’s_ Shiro?” He says it like it’s sacred.

Lance tenses. He looks like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t, just blinks at the screen where Shiro is being strapped down to a table with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes. Hunk and Pidge are looking at him, worry stretching over their features. He is looking straight ahead.

“We need to save him,” Lance declares and there’s determination in his voice but it’s distant. Hunk and Pidge exchange looks but comply, and just as they consider going over a detailed plan, a row of explosives goes off on the far right from the ship. Hunk starts yelling and Lance uses the distraction to snatch the binoculars out of Pidge’s backpack. He looks around, eyes wide and frantic, and he watches for a while and then _bolts._ It's familiarity.

He can hear Pidge and Hunk running and yelling right behind him, Pidge screaming his name while Hunk is repeatedly asking _what is it_ because Hunk isn’t stupid. Hunk knows Lance saw something. He just doesn’t know _what._

“Keith!” Lance yells out, not as a call but as an answer. He comes to an abrupt stop a few feet before the ship and the bracelet around his wrist feels too tight. Pidge catches up to him first.

“Are you sure?”

“I’d recognize that mullet anywhere.”

 

 

 

Keith is still Keith. At least three inches taller but still shorter than Lance, still wearing black fingerless gloves and a different kind of a stupid red jacket without worn out strings at the sleeves. There’s a bandana under his neck and Lance doesn’t know if he wants to tug him in for a kiss by it or use it to strangle him to death.

Keith is a little dumbfounded when the three rush in and he almost clumsily drops Shiro from his hands. His eyes are wide and frantic like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Pidge? Hunk?” There's a pause. _“Lance?_ What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Lance grumbles and it sounds harsher than he meant it to be. He walks over to a shocked Keith and an unconscious Shiro and he throws Shiro’s hand around his neck and Keith's stare is burning into his skull, he’s sure of it. He doesn't have to look but he knows it is. It makes his face heat up.

“Okay, guys, I know we all missed Keith and I'm sorry to put off our reunion, but the guards are returning,” Hunk points out, fidgeting by Pidge’s side. “We should get going.”

They ride Keith's, or well, _Shiro’s_ hoverbike, the same one they once hotwired and drove off of a cliff. And to escape the possibility of getting caught, Keith has to do exactly that, once again.

Hunk yells the same as the first time, maybe even louder. Pidge is too busy holding Shiro to look around herself, and she only realizes what happened once they land. Lance's eyes are strictly on Keith. Keith is staring straight ahead.

* * *

 There’s a touch on Lance’s bicep—it’s barely there. “Can I talk to you,” Keith says in a hushed voice. There’s a touch on Lance’s bicep— it’s unfamiliar, like it’s coming from a stranger. There’s a touch on Lance’s bicep—it’s Keith’s.

The desert air is crisp, despite it being a desert. The air around them is tense, like a rubber band stretched, near snapping.

“So,” Lance says, “a letter goodbye, huh.”

“Lance,” says Keith. It sounds desperate. He itches at his palms, no strings to pull at this time. “I know what I did was bad. I know all of it. I know you probably hate me now and I know after this you’ll hope to never see me again.” A huff of air, eyes closed. _“I know.”_

“No,” Lance replies. “You don’t know _shit._ Because if you did— if you know all of it like you say you do, you’d know I don’t hate you. You’d know that I wish I did, but I don’t. You would know that.” He kicks at the dirt under his feet, absent-minded and over-thinking at the same time. “It fucking sucks, Keith. What you did sucks. And that’s just a simple way of putting it.”

Keith’s sigh blends with the sound of the wind dipping into the precipices and the hollows of the desert. His chest rises, then falls. One, two, three times. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I didn’t want to leave but- but I felt like I had to. It felt like the right thing to do. I’m sorry.” _I missed you,_ goes unsaid.

 _Sometimes you want the easy way out,_ Lance thinks. _Sometimes it’s easier to run away._

And he echoes it as he says: “It’s okay.” He takes the easy way out as he says: “I forgive you.”

An intake of breath. The desert air is crisp and it bites at his nose. “Just don't do it again, asshole.”

Keith's smile is crooked. If Lance looks hard enough, he can see it say _only if I have to._

Lance looks but pretends he doesn't see.

* * *

 Shiro wakes up and they're a team of five now. Keith hugs Shiro and Pidge hugs Keith and Hunk hoists Keith up for a spin and _squeezes_ and Keith can't breathe but it's good. They're a team of five and it's good.

Shiro talks about his capture with blank eyes and Keith talks about a cave with markings like it's the most important thing in the world and with Pidge’s research based on the radio chatter she's listened to, they tie all of the stories up with Voltron. Some unknown, all-powerful secret weapon, defender of the universe, protector of all. 

Keith walks them to the cave and Lance touches the walls and the markings light up and it's a mess. They end up falling through a hole in the floor and landing in front of an enormous mechanical blue lion and it opens up to Lance, for some reason, and he flies it like it's made for him. Maybe because it is.

* * *

 “What a day,” Hunk murmurs, sitting down and then letting himself fall back on one of the couches in the castle’s lounge room. “I haven’t taken this much of a risk ever since that one time you, Pidge, and I snuck out of Iverson’s detention while he was asleep."

Lance sits with his legs thrown over the back of the sofa, his head hanging downwards. He hums. “Yeah, I remember that. Wasn’t Keith there too?”

Something wraps around Lance’s ankles and pulls. Lance shrieks and scrambles, kicking his legs in every possible direction before being released, causing his head to not-so-gently meet the floor.

“Talking about me?” a voice asks and, _yep, it’s Keith._ His hideous boots come into Lance’s field of vision, considering he’s still unwillingly doing a headstand. Lance looks up, meeting Keith’s eyes as he looks down at him, his hair haloing his face. The light from the ceiling makes him look like some sort of an angel. _Christ._

“Yeah, we were just discussing how much worse your mullet has gotten than how it used to be,” Lance says, pursing his lips. “Do you wash it? It doesn’t look washed.”

“I’m not accepting criticisms from someone who’s hanging upside down,” Keith crouches, his face getting dangerously close to Lance’s. “All of your blood has flooded into your head.”

Lance _would_ try to get up but if he gets a single inch closer to Keith’s face, he might die, or combust, or worse—say something embarrassing. So he keeps glaring daggers at him and, unfortunately for him, Keith doesn’t get the memo and stays unmoving. It’s not until a few incredibly awkward moments later that he stands and offers Lance a hand. “Get up. If you so much as spend another minute lying like that you might start seeing angels.”

Lance grumbles, “I don’t know about angels but I’ve already started seeing demons. One is offering me a hand right now.”

Keith shoots him a fake smile. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” It sounds so much like the old Keith. Like it was supposed to be said while he’s sitting on his bunk bed at the Garrison. But he isn’t.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk calls, a little absently, “what do you think about, y’know, the recent events? Circumstances?” A beat, then: “Incidents?”

Keith sits down, albeit on the complete opposite corner than Lance, leaving a pretty decent space between them. He hunches forward, arms on his knees. “What, you mean the part where Lance flew a blue mecha lion through a wormhole that got us stuck on an alien planet with only two people who have been asleep for ten thousand years? Or the part where we all get our own mecha lions that form a giant robot and with that, we become the defenders of the universe?”

Hunk hums in thought. “Both?”

Keith lays back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

Hunk and Keith chat for a while, with Lance watching from the sidelines. He does nothing but add a comment here and there, being more focused on following the curve of Keith’s lips and the strands of hair getting into his eyes. He takes him in, the fact that he’s there. There, with Lance. Not gone in a desert. Not a goodbye letter and a folded uniform. Not just a hurtful memory.

“Lance, what do you think?” Keith asks and Lance blinks. He wasn’t listening. The ringing in his head is too loud.

 _I think,_ Lance’s thoughts say, _that I missed you, too._

* * *

  _Don't judge a book by its cover_ is a phrase Lance knows well enough, having been reminded of it plenty of times, especially by his mother. It was embedded into his brain, a repeated sentence that he firmly followed like it was law. _Don’t assume unless you know the whole story,_ a voice rings in his head, and he tries his best to stick to that, but what can you do when you open a book and half of it is written in invisible ink?

That's what trying to read Keith feels like. You think you have him figured out, that you have some insight of what's going on in that brain of his and yet, somehow, he keeps surprising you. And you realize you don't have him figured out at all. 

“I just think,” Keith said, his hands resting at his hips in an oddly out of character stance, “that we deserve a day off. After all the fighting, it wouldn’t do any harm.” The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his hair is tied up in a messy ponytail that Lance pretends he doesn't care about.

“Keith, you spend twenty-five hours of the day on the training deck whenever we're not fighting Zarkon,” Hunk points out, his hands still covered in space flour from the food he was making before Keith rudely interrupted him with his announcement. “Are you sure the gladiator hasn't kicked you too hard during your last training sequence? Feeling dizzy at all?" 

“I’m _fine,”_ Keith says, his annoyance evident in his voice. “Why is it _so_ weird that I think we deserve a day off? I’m not a robot.” His arms then cross at his chest, finally giving some kind of sign to others that yes, this is their Keith, and yes, their Keith is completely serious about his plan for the day.

“It's not that part that's weird,” Pidge chimes in, adjusting their glasses, a thing they do whenever they’re stating something matter-of-fact, “it’s the fact that you want to have a day off at the _beach,_ of all places. _”_

“If it helps, I think that's a great idea,” Lance adds in after sitting there in silence, mindlessly pulling at the strings of his jacket, a habit picked up from a certain someone. He sees Keith turn to him in the corner of his eye, a slight movement of messy hair and a sharp intake of air.

“Of course you do,” Pidge says, a slight teasing tone in her voice, “you're the whole reason why he’s like this.”

“Shut up, Pidge,” Keith barks, the previously cool facade crumbling, a scowl forming on his face.

“No, don't shut up, Pidge,” Lance cuts in. “Keep talking. What do you mean by I'm the reason Keith's like this?”

“Oh, nothing, just the fact that after last night when you had a,” she squints, looking for an appropriate word before settling on, “ _meltdown,_ Keith was so intent on making you feel better he asked Coran to show him all of the nearby planets that had some kind of body of water on the castle's mapping system.”

“It's true,” Coran confirms offhandedly, “he made sure to find the best one. First, he checked if it's occupied by the Galra, then checked if the water is definitely not harmful, then made sure it looks as Earth-y as possible. He was there all night, I'm fairly certain. I mean,” he gestures to Keith with both of his arms, “look at him! He looks like he hasn't slept in deca-phoebs!”

“Alright, that's enough,” Shiro _finally_ cuts in, saving Keith from further embarrassment after joyfully relishing in his suffering. “I think Keith has a good idea, we could use a break after everything. But cut it out with the teasing,” he adds. “You'll have more to tease him about when you see his form in the water.”

“My form is _fine_ ,” Keith retorts. “For someone who's never been in water deeper than a children’s pool, it's perfectly solid.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully, amusement overtaking his features. “Sure,” he says. “Well, we should probably ask Allura about making a quick trip to the space mall. For the supplies and all.” He glances at Pidge and Hunk, tilting his head to the door, a “let's go" motion that they immediately catch on to. They shuffle out of the room with Shiro and Coran, leaving Lance and Keith alone.

 “I—" Keith starts, but Lance is already walking over and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. It’s familiar, in a strange way.

“Hey, man,” he says, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Thanks, you know. For being a loser sap.”

Keith punches him in the shoulder. “Fuck off, Lance.”

It’s familiar, in a strange way. Lance’s heart sings.

“If I get attacked by an alien shark and die, I’ll kill you.”

“You’ll be dead.”

Lance snorts. “Still bad at jokes, I see. I was worried for a moment. Hunk was right, maybe the gladiator really beat your brains out.” He purses his lips. “If he had anything to beat out, that is.”

Keith punches him again, harder this time. He’s smiling now. “You’re the one to say, Lance “thousand plus ten equals ten thousand” McClain.”

Lance slings his arm around Keith’s neck, his mullet tickling the inside of his elbow. _God,_ does this feel familiar. “I was just trying to make you feel better, drop-out.”

Keith’s smile falters for a moment. _You really know how to fuck things up,_ Lance’s mind supplies. _You fucking know why he left,_ it says. Keith, though, smiles impossibly wider. “Okay, fuck off, asshole,” he says.

Keith, Lance thinks, is something he might never understand.

* * *

 When they arrive at the beach the planet’s moon is still high up in the sky, though the sky is as blue and bright as it would be at Earth’s noon. The sand is red and the water reflecting the blue sky makes the ocean look slightly purple. It isn’t the closest thing to looking like Earth but it’s as close as it can be. 

Lance hops out of the blue lion brimming with childish excitement. He fumbles with his shoes and leaves them at Blue’s mouth- the lion makes a rumbling noise at the sight of her paladin happily skittering in the sand.

Shiro has a pair of sunglasses on, though for what sun, nobody’s sure. A white towel is slung across his shoulders, though the neon green swim trunks with different types of cartoon fish make his attempt at playing cool seem kind of fruitless.

Pidge is the first one to laugh immediately upon laying her eyes on him, a sound loud enough to startle even Lance who has now sat down, the palms of his hands spread as he runs them through the sand with utmost glee on his face. 

“These are the only ones that they had in my size,” Shiro shouts across to Pidge who is now doubled over in laughter, having sat down herself to catch her breath. Hunk is by her side, poised but hiding a barely visible smile behind the clenched fist resting at his mouth.

Allura is wearing a dress, a pastel pink one with short sleeves and a belt, the skirt of the dress flaring out from her waist downwards, stopping at her knees. Her hair is tied up in two princess Leia buns, Lance’s doing. She doesn’t know who Leia is, but had said she “appreciates a nice hairstyle, especially a princess one.”

Keith is sitting calmly at Red’s paw, elbow resting at his knee and his hand on his palm. He curiously presses his hand into the ground and jolts slightly when his handprint comes out yellow in the sand.

“It does that for you too?” Lance asks from where he’s sprawled in the sand as if he’s trying to make a snow angel, arms and legs spread out like a huge starfish. Keith stifles a chuckle, smiling, and Lance turns his head away way too quickly. “Pidge, what is this stuff?" 

Pidge, now barefoot, steps away from where she’d been standing and looks down at the yellow footprints with piqued interest. “It seems to be thermochromic. Changes its color with temperature.”

“Wow, Keith, you really outdid yourself,” Lance says and Keith wants to say he didn't even know about this, but instead sticks to covering the slight blush dusting his face in embarrassment.

They lay down their towels, more for aesthetics than purpose, and Pidge even sticks a straw hat on her head. Hunk has brought along everything needed for making a sand castle and he makes haste to gather the sand into small buckets, carrying them over to where Pidge has sat.

Lance runs into the water first, waves swallowing his knees and then waist before he dives head on. Keith watches him from the shore, his feet barely touching the decently warm water, hands fidgeting awkwardly by his side. He watches Lance reach the surface.

“You getting in any time soon, slowpoke? Or should I wait here all day?” Lance asks, now neck deep in the water, hair plastered to his forehead while droplets race down his cheeks, a sight so beautiful Keith has to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“Why are you waiting for me, anyway?” Keith asks, hoping to catch him off guard. Lance does nothing but grin, sinking down into the water up to his nose for a second as if he's trying to conceal it.

“What's the fun in having a day at the beach if you have no one to duck?” he returns with his own question and, well, it sets Keith off. He's suddenly marching through water, determination set on his face up until he's neck deep. Lance swims backwards to get away from him, but Keith doesn't move past where he can stand.

“Keith,” Lance huffs, amused. “Can you not swim?”

“I can swim,” Keith protests, edging backwards so the water isn't up to his chin. “I just don't feel like it.”

“Come on, Red,” Lance pleads and the nickname makes Keith mentally wince. “We came all the way here just so you would refuse to swim with your best buddy? Are you scared? Or was Shiro right and your form really _is_ that bad?”

Keith, in a brilliant moment of absolute impulsiveness, draws his arm backwards and then wildly swings forwards, skimming the surface of the water, enough to land a decent splash directly in Lance’s face.

Lance stills for a moment, eyes closed and lips sealed to prevent him from releasing a string of curses in front of Shiro— at least that’s what Keith guesses. He slowly blinks the droplets off of his eyelashes before he charges at Keith, violently splashing the water out of his way for no particular reason other than to be dramatic.

Keith, having expected his fate, makes a run for the shore where everyone but Pidge has their eyes pointed at the two of them. Lance makes a vaguely threatening noise behind him and he takes off, running mindlessly with bare feet, the sand cushioning his steps like a cloud.

“If you step on mine and Hunk’s castle, I’ll kill you,” Pidge calls out offhandedly, still not picking her head up from her work. She’s working carefully on shaping one of the castle’s towers, tapping the damp sand into place.

It doesn’t take long for Lance to get a hold of Keith— longer legs and all— and they roll around in the sand for what, to Keith, seems like an eternity. In one sudden move, his back is firmly pressed against the ground, two hands enveloping his wrists and pinning them by the sides of his head and a warm, soaking body right on top of him.

Lance is smirking down at him from a position that makes his cheeks heat up shamefully fast and he coughs, having no escape out. Lance cocks an eyebrow at him.

“So,” Keith offers, exhaling a deep sigh, “what now. What’s my punishment?”

“I’ll think of it,” Lance says and Keith feels something wet hit his forehead.

“Spit? Are you spitting on me?”

Lance lets him go suddenly, fumbling off of him. “No? What are you—”

And then more droplets come, one hitting Keith directly on his nose. He scrambles up, and so does everyone else.

“I might’ve forgotten to mention,” Coran speaks up, gathering his things calmly, “that this planet’s weather changes fairly quickly. The atmosphere is incredibly unstable.” He grimaces. “My mistake.”

Keith watches as Lance’s mouth hangs slightly open with surprise once he realizes it’s raining and he extends his hands with his palms turned upwards. The rainfall grows with every passing second, but no one makes an attempt to move out of the way, except Coran and Allura. Keith guesses they all missed rain.

By the time they start to head for the lions, it has started to pour. Pidge, Hunk and Shiro have already shuffled inside to hide from the rain but Lance decided to stay in the open, not lowering his arms even once.

Keith watches him from under Red’s head where the rain can’t get to him, leaned against the lion’s leg with crossed arms and the slightest smile on his face. Lance is now twirling in one spot, whooping and laughing while the water drips down his skin, not giving him the time to dry from the sea. He catches a glance of Keith and smiles so wide his face might split in half, and Keith feels something twist inside his stomach, a painful yet blissful feeling.

_Red, like the sand under Lance’s feet. Red, like desire._

Keith’s longing for Lance is the crinkle by his eye when he smiles at him.

* * *

Lance doesn’t like uncertainty, or not knowing where he stands. When fighting the Galra he knows what he’s meant to do, but during diplomatic missions, well, he doesn’t know what to expect. It drives him to the edge.

He guesses he could say that about something— _someone_ else as well.

He watches a dark haired boy talk to two aliens, arms gesturing at something in the air and a wide smile spread across his face. Occasionally an awkward laugh erupts from him, eyelids fluttering closed only to reveal deep purple eyes when opened again. Those same eyes spot him and he waves, smiling in a way Lance has learned to cherish, because he doesn’t get to see much of it. Lance ducks his head but raises his own hand to wave back. His heart pitter patters, stomach turning.

Lance doesn’t like feeling helpless.

* * *

 The sky is a deeper blue when the team splits up, two and two while Lance is, of course, with Keith. Because coincidences are a beautiful thing, aren't they?

The mission isn’t anything dangerous- apparently a few Galra soldiers were still hiding in the deep forests of the newly freed planet, and they had been stealing things and kidnapping people their whole time there. The plan is to flush them out, and because the woods are so deep, they’ll have to patrol without their lions. They aren’t expecting more than maybe ten soldiers in total, so it should be an easy task.

The weather is slightly windy, Lance can’t feel it in his paladin suit but he can see the leaves on the trees swaying back and forth. Keith’s sword is drawn, prepared for battle. Lance’s rifle is in his right hand, relaxed by his side. 

“I don’t think we’ll find anything,” Lance declares loudly and Keith doesn’t acknowledge him, steadily walking four steps behind him. “I mean, how can they even know they’re Galra soldiers? Maybe they’re just some local weirdos or something. Have they ever caught one?” 

“I don’t know, Lance,” Keith says in an annoyed tone and Lance turns around, facing him. He opens his mouth to say something but then his eyes widen and he raises his rifle, eyes squinting before he shoots. The blast flies past Keith’s head before he can even register it. 

“I take it back, they were right,” Lance announces and moves past Keith who stands frozen in his tracks. The sword feels like it might fall from his hand. Lance pushes him behind a tree, the trunk wide enough to cover both of them. The sounds of about twenty blasters going off breaks through the silence of the woods, the purple light hitting nearby trees and the ground.

“Keith,” Lance calls, panic welling up in his voice as he turns around for a second to look at Keith, “there’s a lot of them. We have to move.” 

Another sound of the rifle going off. Then another.

“Are you sure? I mean, can’t we just-”

“No,” Lance says, voice stern. “Without the lions, we can’t. And you can’t get to them with your sword, they’ll shoot you down before you can even think about it.”

Keith winces at the honesty of it. He rolls his shoulders back. “Okay, well. Cover us, sharpshooter.”

Lance smiles at him before shooting exactly three shots from his rifle, hitting every single target. Keith takes him by the hand and they’re both running, maneuvering through the trees in near dark, bumping shoulders at sharp turns.

The trees start to space out more and more, and Lance assumes they’re close to the treeline, or at least a field that would give them the advantage of luring the soldiers out in the open while they put them off before the rest of the team can come help.

Nature, though, seems to have other plans because yes, they find a clearing. But instead of an open field, it’s a steep cliff, the edge of it sudden and sharp. Lance bumps into Keith’s shoulder before he can look in front of himself, eyes widening.

“Fuck. Holy fuck, Keith, we’re dead, we are _so_ dead—”

“Do you trust me?”

Lance’s head snaps towards him. “What?”

“Do you trust me, Lance?” Keith repeats and the look on his face just might be engraved in Lance’s brain forever— hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyes almost entirely black like they’re reflecting the sky above them, lips slightly parted as he gasps for air. A blast shoots past them and he winces, ducking his head. 

“Yes? Just, if you have a plan of how to get us out of here, you should probably hurry-”

Keith wraps his hand around Lance’s wrist, tugging both of them forward until they’re at the edge. Below them, what seems to be a dark blue hole is actually a lake.

“Still trust me?”

Lance blinks. Something about the situation seems familiar.

_Shut up and trust me._

_Blue, like the water of the lake they’re currently hovering above. Blue, like trust._

Lance’s trust is in the bruising grip of his hand on Keith’s, the splash of water as they meet the surface, the gasp of air when they come up. The lack of Galra soldiers shooting at them.

* * *

 “He’s gone,” Keith says mostly to himself, his eyes locked on the empty cockpit of the black lion. His words echo, bouncing against the walls. No one dares to say another word. 

Shiro disappears once again and Keith seems to do the same. He can only be seen during discussions about what their next step is but even then he's distant, arms crossed and lips shut in a tight line. He doesn’t speak, not a single word. Dark circles sit under his tired eyes, an indicator he hasn’t slept well— or at all.

“We have to think about finding a new black paladin. The universe needs Voltron,” Allura says, carefully looking anywhere but at Keith. She sounds determined but Lance knows how to listen closely. Her voice wavers and shakes and it drips with pity.

There's a bang and Keith’s fists are on the table and he's standing. All five pairs of eyes look to him but his own eyes are closed. He huffs out a breath of air, a clear indicator he’s holding back. Lance would know. He’s seen it happen more times than he remembers it happening.

“There is no Voltron without Shiro. We have to find Shiro first. We _will_ find Shiro first,” Keith says, and Lance can practically hear his heart breaking with it.

In one swift turn, Keith is facing away from the table, fists balled up by his side, knuckles white. He storms out of the room. The door slides open, slides closed behind him. Lance watches him leave.

 

_A cliff. Desert air. The sunset._

_Arms wrapped around his body. Tears staining his jacket._

_A promise. I’ll never let you go._

_A broken promise. You left and I let you._

 

Lance runs after him.

He catches Keith at the entrance of the training deck and rushes in, a familiar thing for the two of them, Keith’s favorite runaway. The doors shut behind him and Keith doesn’t acknowledge Lance’s presence in the room, his eyes closed in focus, and a few ticks after his bayard appears in his hand. Lance frowns.

“Keith, buddy, can we—”

“Talk?” Keith finishes for him, staring dead center as his bayard turns into his usual sword. “This is a training room, not a talking room. Unless you want to train, you can leave.” His voice is stern, emotionless. _Broken._

“Listen, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for all of us,” Lance says, stepping closer. “We all care about Shiro, and I know you care about him the most — and we _will_ find him. I promise you that. But in order to find him, well… We have to get to Zarkon. And we can’t get to him without Voltron.”

Keith is silent for a moment and he lowers his sword. “He said he wants me to pilot Black if something ever happens. Remember that time when we were all stuck on different planets after the wormhole was corrupted?” he asks and Lance nods. “I flew Black. Not for long but... I did.”

Lance blinks at him. “Why are we looking for a black paladin then? We already have one! You have to tell Allura—”

“No, Lance,” Keith cuts in, “I… I don’t want to.... pilot Black… I’m not a leader. I can’t lead. God, Lance, I stood beside you and Hunk during our presentation and I didn’t say a word.”

“Keith,” Lance says, extending his arm to grab at the handle of Keith’s sword, fingers touching. “You were fourteen. A new kid in school. I would be scared, too. And I know you’re scared right now, and it’s okay. So am I, so is everyone else. This isn’t pleasant for anyone. But you have to think about it. There’s a reason Shiro chose you.” His fingers curl around the handle in their entirety. “There’s a reason Black chose you as well.”

Lance tugs at the sword. Keith lets him.

_Blue, like the color of Lance’s paladin armor, replaced by red. Blue, like stability._

Keith’s anchors are the knuckles of Lance’s hands, knocking against his as they intertwine.

* * *

 Lance blames himself for Keith leaving again.

It’s irrational, he knows it is. But Keith had left three days after Lance had talked to him about his problem and, well, things just added up.

 

 

_“I’m the seventh wheel. With Shiro back, I’m the odd one out.”_

 

_A hand that fits perfectly in his. Familiar warmth._

 

_“Lance,” he had said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out. You’re staying on this team and I’m making sure of it even if it’s the last thing I do. They need you more than anyone. You’re too important for them to lose you.”_

 

 

Lance doesn’t sleep again. Fidgets with his bracelet until the castle’s alarms are blaring, a call for a new mission. The chair next to him feels empty when they’re all sat at the table, the seat Keith would usually take now vacant. The training deck feels emptier and emptier every time Lance checks on it, just in case Keith is in there, hiding away or just training like he used to. Every single time the answer hurts more.

 But anger is the second stage of grief, they say.

 Lance calls it as it is: running away. Keith calls it taking the easy way out. And they say history repeats itself until the lesson is learned.

 Lance wonders how many times Keith will have to leave until he learns his.

 Lance, sixteen, staring at an empty bed with a folded Garrison uniform on it, hoping far too hard for it to be there by accident. Hoping far too hard it isn’t Keith’s size. Hoping far too hard yesterday wasn’t a goodbye.

 Lance, sixteen, mourning over a boy that never died. Eyes sunken and blurry with the remains of tears he’d just let slip down his cheeks. Hair messy, lips bit to the point of bleeding. Knuckles clenched hard enough to see the white of the bone underneath the skin.

 Lance, sixteen, feeling empty.

  _I’m sure he’ll come back,_ Hunk’s voice echoes. _He wouldn’t do that to us._

 Lance, now eighteen, gritting his teeth, jaw clenched. _Like hell he wouldn’t._

  _Red, like blinding, fiery anger._

 Lance’s ire is in the moon-shaped indents on the insides of his hands.

* * *

Lance doesn’t let himself move on, even though he isn’t the one famous for holding grudges.

 Seeing Keith again is bittersweet. There’s a scar on his right cheek, spreading from the edge of his jaw to his cheekbone, an equally bittersweet reminder that the Shiro they’ve played Coran’s stupid games with wasn’t the Shiro everyone thought he was.

 “We’re glad to have you back,” Allura says, lips pulled in a smile. Lance doesn’t know how she does it. He guesses it’s because Keith hasn’t left _her_ before. Keith hasn’t told _her_ “I’m sorry. It felt like the right thing to do.” Keith hasn’t told _her_ he regrets leaving only to do it again.

 Lance doesn’t know if Keith does regret it at all.

 “Glad to be back,” he responds with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. _Sometimes it’s easier to take the easy way out. Fake it until you make it,_ Lance guesses.

 Keith hugs Coran, hugs Pidge, hugs Hunk. Hugs everyone like he just came back from a vacation in a vaguely romantic town in Southern Italy and not a life-or-death battle against his own brother— his brother’s clone. Like his brother isn’t currently stuck in a freezing cryopod. _Fake it until you make it,_ Lance guesses again.

“I don’t feel well,” he says before Keith can reach him. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” The lie passes through his teeth without a stutter.  
  
Everyone’s stares burn into the back of his skull as he walks— Keith’s specifically. Still, the door slides closed behind him, and he lets it.

_Sometimes it’s easier to run away. Sometimes you want the easy way out._

Lance wants Keith to be the one running after him, for once. Keith doesn't. But there’s still victory in him being the one walking away. In Keith being the one to watch him leave. _This is what it must feel like,_ Lance thinks, and he doesn’t like it.

Lance has watched Keith leave enough times to recognize his back from miles away. Lance has watched Keith leave enough times to know exactly where his hair stops at his neck, but it’s longer now. He’s older now. Now it’s his turn to feel what Lance feels.

Lance feels like throwing up.

* * *

 “I fucked up,” Keith says. “I fucked up.” 

Pidge doesn’t look up from her weird phone thing as she says “yeah, you kinda did.” Hunk jabs a good-natured elbow into her side and she scowls.

“It’s not that bad,” Hunk assures. “Lance cares about you a lot. He’s just hurt. He’ll forgive you.”

“Care is a light way to put it,” Pidge mutters under her breath, a thing she does fairly often. Hunk jabs at her again. Keith doesn’t get it.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” he asks. “The other reason why I left?" 

“I don't think so,” Hunk says. “If he does know, he isn't showing it.”

They're silent for a moment. Pidge adjusts her glasses and Keith shifts from one foot to the other.

“I’m gonna go see him,” Keith says suddenly and Hunk flinches. “I think I should go see him.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says. “You should.” Keith is one foot out of the door when he hears—

“And Keith? Just tell him the truth.”

* * *

 Heart and mind are two very different things, Lance finds out. Go figure.

 It's confusing, in an odd way. How by every standard of common sense he should be hating Keith's guts, and yet. And yet.

 His mom would tell him to listen to his heart. She would tell him _the heart knows what is best for you, Lance._ And he’d ask _what’s the mind there for, then, ma?_ And she would smile and hug him like she always does and she would tell him _just_ _do whatever makes you happy, okay, Lance?_

 And he’d respond with _I don’t know what does, ma._

 

***

 

“Hey, loser,” a voice says. “Did your mom teach you how to fly?”

 Fourteen year old Lance doesn’t budge. He keeps talking to Hunk as if ignoring the voice will make it go away, but Hunk is already too uncomfortable with the situation and he doesn’t listen, averting his eyes to the floor. Lance keeps his eyes forward, fists clenched by his sides. Turn the other cheek, they say. Lance would rather turn his back.

 “I’d think with those big ears of yours you’d hear me. How’d you even get here? This isn't a school for people like you.”

  _Leave me alone,_ Lance thinks. _Please. Leave me alone._

 “Hey, shithead, I’m talking to—”

There’s a thump, suddenly. Out of the blue. Before Lance can process it, the new kid is being dragged away and the owner of the voice is sitting on the floor with a reddening cheek. Lance can only look.

The uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach. There's nothing he can do about it. He can only look.

 

 

A week later and two hours into the presentation, Lance asks what he’s been meaning to since he shook Keith’s hand.

“Hey, why’d you punch that guy who was teasing me?” he asks, twirling the pencil between his fingers to shake off the nervousness creeping up his back.

Keith looks genuinely perplexed. He takes a half-chewed pencil out of his mouth and furrows his eyebrows. “Why not? He was being an asshole.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t being an asshole to _you.”_

Keith shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t like assholes.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

And that’s the end of it. It stops there. And Lance figures, as much as he hates assholes, he wouldn’t punch one for someone he barely knew. He figures Keith would. Because Keith did.

“Thanks,” he says, then. “About that.”

 Keith’s eyebrows raise like he's taken aback by the words, his gaze raising to meet Lance’s. He holds it for a second, mouth opening and closing as he flounders for words. “Yeah,” he says then, averting his eyes to the table. “It’s - it’s nothing, really.” His eyes scan the paper in front of him and he crumples it up, throwing it aside. Lance almost misses the slightest bit of pink dusting his cheeks.

 _You can look but not see,_ Lance thinks. And he sees now.

 

***

 

People leave, Lance knows. People leave and take parts of you - your heart - with them. Sometimes they lose that piece, maybe while lying in the tall grass under a tree, exhaling the long lost memories and leaving them behind. Sometimes they rip it away from themselves, forcing their heart to not hold on to something so painful, like a piece of someone who hurt them beyond words. But most people, Lance knows, tend to keep it. Lance doesn't know if Keith had kept his.

 Maybe he lost it on his way out of the castle, or maybe the second he decided the lives of his teammates were worth more than his own.

 The heart, Lance knows, is what leads him through the door. He lets it.

 Keith meets him on the other side of it, now changed into comfortable clothes, hands tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Two years have passed for him and yet, he still looks so small like this.

 “Lance,” he says. “We have to talk. Can I talk to you?”

 Lance doesn’t trust his voice so he nods, far too eager, far too ready. The second the door shuts behind Keith, he whirls around, fists clenched by his sides and his eyes shut, as if he doesn’t want to look his fate in the eye. He chews at the words in his mouth, letters sticking to the backs of his teeth like gum. He has to force them out.

 “Why did you leave?”

 Keith flinches. His shoulders have gotten broader, Lance notices, and his jacket sits kind of weird on them now. There's a strand of hair covering his eye and Lance wants to tuck it away. “Are you talking about Voltron or the Garrison?”

Lance breathes in. Breathes out. _Ebb and flow._ “I’m talking about _me.”_

Keith lets out a shaky breath. Closes his eyes like he's trying to find his answer behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

“And if you did,” Lance says, “if you did have a choice—"

“I would choose you,” Keith says, all in one breath. “I would choose you, without question, Lance, but you scare me so much. You get so close and it scares me so much. I can't lose any more people. I lost my dad, my mom, Shiro- and I have to watch you put your life on the line out there and it terrifies me.”

 “So you're just going to, what? Push me away? Because you're scared?” Lance spits with more venom than he knew he had. He doesn't know where all of it is coming from. “I don't know how to break this to you, Keith, but we're literally _stuck_ in— in a fucking _intergalactic war—_  for all we know, we might never see Earth again. For all we know, we might all just _die_ out here. And you're pushing me away because you're scared.” It isn't a question.

“No,” Keith says, quiet. “You don't get it,” he says, quieter.

“Oh, _I_ don't get it—"

“No, you don't,” Keith replies, voice firm. “I came here to apologize. So can we just—"

“Forget it? Move on?” _Take the easy way out._ Words written on paper but it’s almost like he can hear Keith’s voice say them, now. _Shut up. Fucks sake. Shut up._ “We can definitely do that. Forget anything ever happened. Take your stupid easy way out.” The edge of his voice cuts like a knife. “But it won’t fix _shit._ Keith, you _ran away.”_ And then, finally: “Maybe you should have just stayed away.”

The silence is deafening. It covers them like a blanket, and yet, it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings Lance has felt in a while. And he’s felt a lot.

“Okay, then,” Keith says, finally. There are emotions in his voice that Lance can’t read out. His fists unclench. “Fuck you, too, Lance.”

And he’s out of the door.

 _Listen to your heart,_ his ma would say.

 _I’m sorry,_ he would reply. _I’m sorry but I can’t._

* * *

A surprise attack. _Paladins, to your lions,_ and it’s like it’s their first day all over again, fumbling with armor and helmets and bayards _._ Lance wonders if they’ll ever get a break, but then goes on to guess that signing up to be defenders of the universe also means signing up for not getting a decent nap even once in your life. Or being able to avoid seeing someone you had a nasty fight with about three vargas ago. _He doesn’t give a shit,_ Lance’s mind supplies, and yeah, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Lance doesn’t give a shit, either.

Red feels distant, almost like he’s giving Lance a silent treatment. _It’s not my fault he’s an asshole,_ Lance thinks, and Red grumbles in return, but doesn’t answer. Lance tightens his grip on the controls.

“Our lions are drained from our last fight,” Keith’s voice comes from the comms. “Forming Voltron would be useless. We should preserve power and do this with our lions.” Lance almost turns his comms off, thinking about how he would rather have Coran sing-song him orders than listen to them when they’re coming from Keith.

“Scared we won’t be able to form Voltron because I hate your guts? Or is it the other way around?” Lance mutters into his hand as soon as the comms are off. Red makes a low sound and an uneasy feeling pools in gut. _You’re lying to yourself._ Lance shoves the thought to the back of his head. Red goes silent.

The universe doesn’t seem to be on their side, which, considering a big portion of it is run by the Galra, shouldn’t come as a big shocker. Still, Lance misses half of his shots, Keith’s jawblade gets stuck in a ship’s wing and Hunk running Yellow into the ion cannon does nothing but slightly dent it. So, yeah. The universe is giving them one big slap in the face today.

“What,” Allura’s voice crackles from the comms, an equal mix of irritation and utter confusion, “is going on? What are these Galra ships made of?”

“They’re just regular ships, princess,” Pidge intervenes, voice surprisingly relaxed. “I think it’s us. Our lions are pretty weak." 

“I don’t think Red has anything to do with Lance missing all of his shots,” Keith interrupts, much to Lance’s dread. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s Black’s fault that you don’t know how to use a jawblade, either!”

“Keith! Lance! I thought this rivalry thing was over with,” Allura cuts in, growing annoyed. “We have to work as a team. That’s why we’re not functioning properly.”

 _Screw this,_ Lance thinks. _Screw the team, screw the Galra, screw Keith._ He positions Red for a clean shot and then hears a vague call of his name but pretends he doesn't.

He's positioning Red for a shot and then he suddenly isn't. Something runs into him and throws him out of position and he wants to say _what the hell was that_ but before he can even form the words in his mouth there's a numbing flash of light and the ion cannon beam misses him by a hair. Next thing he knows, the black lion is plummeting towards the ground. Next thing he knows, something hits him as well, because the universe isn't on their side today. The universe seems to have a dark sense of humor.

 _What a useless sacrifice,_ Lance thinks, _dodged an ion cannon just to be taken down by a regular ship._

Screw the team, screw the Galra, screw Keith. And screw the universe.

* * *

 Lance wakes up. Blinks and blinks and blinks until he’s sure he isn’t dead, until air fills his lungs, until the headache in the back of his head subsides. But that doesn't go so easily.

He’s hyper aware of every muscle and bone in his body and every single one of them _hurts._ He pushes himself up by his elbows against the control panels, now definitely unresponsive, a ringing darkness. The pain that is spread throughout his entire body feels like fire against his flesh, flames licking at his already bruised bones, burning, consuming.

He can see the crack in the glass of his helmet and it makes his vision a little blurry, a little not-right. If it’s because of the crack in the glass or the pain in the back of his head, though, he isn’t sure. 

“K - Keith,” he says and his tongue feels heavy, every letter sticking to the roof of his mouth before it passes his lips. He barely gets it out. “Keith, c—” he chokes on air and coughs, shakes with his entire body, shoulders trembling and chest aching. His insides feel sticky, like syrup. He doesn’t know how he’s breathing. “Keith, come in.”

He’s met with silence. Absolute, deafening silence. 

 _Maybe my comms aren’t working,_ he thinks—hopes. If Keith isn’t answering, he hopes it’s because his comms aren't working.

Worry pokes at the back of his mind like a pebble inside of a shoe. Every second that passes gets more agonizing, more painful, more nerve-wracking. His lungs heave for air and he breathes in, yet it somehow still gets stuck in the back of his throat.

He stands on his feet and his legs wobble and he catches onto Red—or what’s left of him. The palms of his hands burn, itch under his armor. He holds onto his lion until he can stand without swaying like the roses planted outside his window back at home. He really wants to go home.

“Keith,” he says, this time it’s firmer. He’s demanding, ordering Keith to answer. Keith doesn’t.

He steps outside, sees the wind whipping the dust but he doesn’t feel it. A few feet forward he sees the black lion, landed on its side, as if it’s peacefully resting. The bright yellow of its eyes is replaced by darkness.

“Keith,” he says, for the third time. “I’m gonna—gonna get to your lion. Hold on—” he makes a shaky step, “I don’t know if— if you can hear me, but. ‘M coming to get you.”

Keith says nothing.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to get to the black lion. It feels like ages, dragging his feet against the pebbles and the sand and it feels like he’s walking on shards of glass, barefoot. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. Opens them. Blinks at the wetness until it’s gone.

He walks into Black’s cockpit dripping with dread. He walks— one, two, three, four, five steps until he sees the control panels, the seat. Keith.

“Keith?” he calls out and Keith doesn’t move. He rushes forward, stumbling, every part of his body protesting at once, but he pushes on. His body feels like molten glass- burning, right before it turns into something fragile, shatters.

Keith’s eyes are closed behind an _incredibly_ fucked up helmet and Lance doesn’t know how to go about it. He takes his own and then Keith's helmet off with shaky hands and careful fingers and he can’t breathe. He feels water in his lungs and he’s drowning, sinking, heaving for air but it does nothing but fill his lungs with even more water.

“Keith, hey, look—” he chokes back a sob, his hand retreating from where it rested against Keith’s cheek to wipe at his own. “Look at me, hey.”

Silence. Over and over and over and over again. Mind-numbing silence.

“Keith, it’s Lance,” he says, sniffles, and he would be embarrassed if it was under any other circumstances. “Look, we’re— _fuck—_ we’re having a bonding moment!”

The dam breaks. Tears drip down his cheeks like rain down a window but it’s less poetic- less artistic, more sad, heartbreaking. Sobs ripple from his chest, the water coming out in waves, but it doesn’t make it easier to breathe.

“You can’t— you can’t leave me again, you can't—”

 

_Keith, you ran away. Maybe you should have stayed away._

 

“You can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” he repeats, quieter, more distinct and less choked every time, until it’s just a whisper on his lips, a drip of a tear.

He looks at Keith’s eyelids, wishes, wishes, and _wishes_ he could see them open just once more, for just for one more blink, one more flutter of the dark eyelashes. Just a fragment of a second so he can etch the color of Keith’s eyes into his brain and call it his favorite.

Lance is looking at Keith.

A gasp ripples out into the silence, but it isn’t his. Then—

Keith is looking back at him.

Lance blinks.

Keith blinks too. His eyes are droopy, barely open but they _are_ and Lance has to rub at his eyes to make sure he isn’t dead or dreaming, once again. He rubs at his eyes, the joints of his fingers digging into his eyelids, and he’s aware of it. He’s awake. Alive—

 —and so is Keith.

 “Lance?” Keith mumbles, and _god,_ Lance could kiss him. Right there, right then, square on the mouth.

“Keith—Keith, you’re alive, Keith—” he whispers, over and over like he’s convincing himself it isn’t a dream. Assuring himself Keith is alive, here, in his arms, breathing, alive, alive, _alive—_

“Yea. I know,” Keith answers. “Barely.” His voice is only slightly above a whisper, wavering.

Fondness floods Lance's chest, replacing the water. The riptide’s pulling him under. It's stronger than that, it's overwhelming, absolute.

_Love. Love. Love._

_I love you._

_Blinding red, an encompassing feeling. Love._

“Lance? Think ‘m gonna black out.”

* * *

 Keith spends four days in the pod.

Four days. _Four days._ Four days of Lance staring at a lifeless face behind tinted glass. Four days of Lance writing and crossing out words on paper, crumpling the paper, tossing it out. Four days of Lance trying to find the words to say.

Allura approaches him on the third day. He's standing in front of the pod, arms crossed, eyes heavy, almost an exact replica of the person behind the glass. 

“Lance,” she says with a light touch on his shoulder and Lance melts into it. He's missed physical closeness. He's missed physical closeness, other than the closeness of Keith's limp body in his arms as he carried him out of the black lion.

“You should rest,” Allura says. “He’ll be upset if he sees you like this.”

“He’ll be upset either way,” Lance whispers, almost to himself, a silent confession. “He almost died for me." 

Lance doesn’t have to see her to know she’s frowning. “You think he regrets it?”

“You think he doesn't?” 

Allura drops her hand from his shoulder. Lance resents it.

“I think he would do it again if he had to.”

* * *

 Lance waits in his room. Taps his foot to the rhythm of a song he doesn't remember the name of. Keith gets out in two doboshes. Lance taps his foot some more. The lyrics of the song slowly pool into the back of his mind.

_I saw your eyes and you made me smile. for a little while, I was falling in love._

 Keith gets out in one dobosh.

  _I saw your eyes and you touched my mind, although it took a while, I was falling in love._

 The doors of his room open, slowly. Keith walks in, posture slumped ever so slightly. Lance sits up in a whirlwind and he’s hugging Keith before he knows it.

  _I saw your eyes, and you made me cry, and for a little while, I was falling in love._

 “You fucking idiot,” Lance rasps against Keith’s shoulder, all smoke, no fire. Keith has gotten taller, Lance notices, as he wraps his arms around him. “Don’t do that ever again.”

 Lance pulls away and Keith smiles and Lance knows. It’s familiarity. It’s routine. _Only if I have to._

 Keith hums, “I thought we were in a fight.”

 “We were in… a disagreement.”

 “I said ‘fuck you, too, Lance.’”

 “I said you should’ve stayed away,” Lance says, acid in his mouth. “I didn’t mean it.”

 “I know,” Keith says. “It’s okay. But— I have to tell you why I left—”

“You left so I wouldn’t.”

“I—yes, that’s part of it, but I—” he stammers. Closes his eyes. _Try again._ “I also left because- because, Lance, I love you.” It comes out like a sigh of relief, flowy and easy and _honest._ “I have—since the Garrison and- I left because Shiro did and I thought you would, too, one day, I— I don’t know if this means anything, for our friendship but. I had to say it. I’ll forever thank the stars I met you.” An intake of breath, slow. Eyes fluttering shut. “You saw beyond this— this orphan kid and I’m—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I love you.”

Lance’s heart sings. “Aw, jeez, Keith. I always thought _I_ would be the one confessing. Always have to make me second best, do you?”

Keith looks at him with lost eyes. Lance wants to laugh.“I— what? Lance?”

“Keith?” Lance repeats, mockingly, adoringly, affectionately. Takes Keith's hand in his, a perfect fit, two pieces of a puzzle. “I love you. I have, for a while now, but—you're also an idiot, so. Mixed feelings, y'know?”

Keith looks at him, just as confused as before. Lance wants to laugh, and then he does, a breathless chuckle, and it seems to confuse Keith even more.

“I died. I died and this is the afterlife and you're the angel,” Keith says stupidly. Lance laughs harder this time.

“You're not far off on the last part, but, no. This is real.” He brings their intertwined hands up. “You feel that? It's real.”

“Fuck,” is all Keith says.

“Yeah, I second that,” Lance says, and then: “Look, I would kiss you right now, but you've been in that pod for four days, so…”

“I’ll go brush my teeth,” Keith says, far too quickly. “Should I go brush my teeth right now? I should go brush my teeth right now."

He’s out the door before Lance can say anything. And, maybe this time around, Lance doesn’t hate seeing him leave.

* * *

 Keith kisses him when he comes back.

Keith kisses _him._ Keith kisses _Lance,_ and Lance is a goner. Keith rushes into his room like he's being chased and he grabs onto the front of Lance's jacket like it's his lifeline and then he stops. He looks at Lance, waits for him to protest or ask him _what the fuck are you doing, Keith,_ but Lance doesn't, instead he closes his eyes and his eyelashes tremble against his cheeks and Keith leans in.

 It’s clumsy, imperfect in every sense of the word, but _fuck,_ what about them isn’t? A runaway and a seventh wheel. Fairytale endings are overrated, anyways.

 They end up in Lance's bed somewhere along the line, legs intertwined, not even a fingerprint of distance between them. It's so familiar, in a new kind of way. They're closer than the Garrison would ever allow them, but honestly? Screw the Garrison.

 “Just so you know,” Keith then says, “I still kind of don't believe this is really happening.” And Lance lets out a breathy laugh and kisses the corner of Keith's mouth just because he can.

  _I was falling in love, I was falling in love._

 It's familiarity _,_ Lance knows, in the way Keith's hand fits in his. The way Keith's eyes trail along his freckles like he's connecting them into constellations. _Maybe it's fate,_ Lance thinks, entirely aware of the red and blue strings connected into one entity that still clings to his wrist. _People leave and come back. Ebb and flow._

 “Screw easy ways out,” Keith says, face tucked into the crook of Lance’s neck, his breaths warming the skin there. “From now on, I want the way leads to you. However difficult that way might be.” He closes his eyes. “I want the way that leads to you.”

 Keith comes into Lance’s life the way Lance gets into the sea: slowly, cautiously. Eighteen year old Lance drowns in him, but he's always loved the water, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> if ur reading this then yes. the bracelet concept was just an excuse to connect all of my fav tropes together. it originally wasn't supposed to play a big role in this at all but i'm a sucker for Sharing Personal Items and Object Importance so UHH yea. now we're here.
> 
> ALRIGHT i have a lot to say about this so. let's get into the lore
> 
> first and foremost: big shoutout to [CHAR](http://transmutated.tumblr.com/), bc w/out him this story would be more of a mess than it is. so. you can only imagine the rough draft ([he also writes stuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercelestialstars))
> 
> SECOND im. not proud of this to be honest. i definitely have mixed feelings about this bc i started writing it in july when my writing style was REALLY different and. idk if it's noticable to anyone else but it is to me and it's rlly bothering me but i had like 7k in and rewriting that would be hell so. i tried to make do of what i had. but its also the longest thing i've ever written so. it's still close to my heart ig
> 
> THIRD, shoutout to vld for confusing me with their timelines!! i GUESS in this timeline keith hears about shiro being a clone, the bp fight happens and he brings shiro back to the castle & they fix him up right away while lotor is still MIA. i actually completely forgot in what order s6 happened bc they dumped in all these big moments in like a few episodes and im VERY adhd & very forgetful lmao
> 
> ALSO the song lance remembers is [space age love song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcMh6GZoFC8) bc i feel like lance would listen to oldies & ALSO pidge's shirt is a spiderman referenc from spiderman homecoming.


End file.
